The Presidio, Pt. 1: Life of the Party
Posted on May 7th, 2021 by Scott Ammora

San Francisco, Earth, May 2397
The Presidio Nightclub

Junior year was over. Classes, tactical scenarios, and arduous exams were now a thing of the past; at least for a couple of months before fall term commenced. The celebrations had been ongoing for almost two weeks: the graduating class had had their fun, the freshmen had been congratulating each other on how they had survived, and the faculty were taking a much needed vacation. The juniors, however, were reveling. A lot. Their penultimate year was upon them – graduation a breath away – and they were going to savor every moment.

San Francisco’s hottest nightclub was alive and well. The normal hot spot for Starfleet Academy students always took advantage of the lapse in coursework; in exchange for bright lights and relaxation, they handled capacity restrictions. The line was out the door and down the block. There wasn’t a single Starfleet uniform as far as the eye could see. No, this was a time for street clothes and comfort, of enjoyment and debauchery.

Scott Ammora, a third year student… no… now a fourth year cadet, waited in line with his friends. He had on his ‘Sunday best’: tight-fitting black t-shirt, a leather jacket to match, and blue jeans that, he thought, made his butt look good. The best night-out attire he owned. He would admit, though, they were his only clubbing clothes in his wardrobe.

“I find the need for this excursion to be… tedious. And waiting for such a pointless endeavor is… tiresome.” Valin stood with his normal poise, not yielding to the constant vibrations of the music within the club pulsating through the door a dozen meters away.

Mark Ellingson laughed, “Valin, you really need to lighten up. Three years down, one to go!”

“Your concept of time as it relates to your education leads me to believe that you’re feeling hardship while learning essential tactics and knowledge that will only further your career. Your position is illogical, naïve at best.” Valin’s hands were clasped behind his back. He wasn’t in his uniform – for the first time since anyone could remember – but was clad in standard civilian garb. A dark brown tunic over a deep blue shirt rested upon dark brown pants. Nothing frivolous, nothing ornate, but also nothing of spectacle. And, he was wearing his black Starfleet-issue boots.

“No one forced you to come, Valin,” Pasha Pruitt said, draping her arm around Scott’s shoulder.

“Ms. Pruitt – ”

She waved a hand at the Vulcan, “Pasha, please, we’ve been friends for three years now.”

There was an awkward moment – on Valin’s part, at least – and the bass line of whatever music was playing thumped from the club behind them. “Ms. Pruitt – ”

Scott laughed, “Come on, Valin, just use her first name. No one is going to report you for…” Scott stood up to his fullest height, popped his collar and placed his hands behind his back, “…a Violation of Human Interaction Etiquette which is against Vulcan social code three-seven-two, sub-section eight, paragraph C, with a footnote at the bottom. If you did, the penalty would be death by Vulcan community disgrace.”

“There is no such code.” Valin stated, seemingly unimpressed. “That being said, I will forego etiquette. Pasha…”

Whoops and hollers from Scott, Mark, and Pasha herself caused many heads to turn from amongst the other bystanders in line. Valin seemed uncomfortable in that moment as much as a Vulcan would allow themselves to feel and internally chided himself for showing even the most remote indication he had an emotional response to their outbursts.

“I knew you had it in you!” Mark Ellingson slapped Valin on the back rather fiercely, “We’ll make a normal being out of you yet!”

“Your insult shrouded in achievement aside, I am familiar with the human ideology of ‘peer pressure’. While you did not overtly force me, by all accounts there was no physical way any of you could have done so, I’m aware of the inter-personal ramifications of not indulging in this end-of-year celebration. Therefore, against my better judgement, I’m present for the festivities.” Valin stared off into the throngs of club-goers.

Scott pulled Valin’s tunic together at the neck, noticing the Vulcan’s lack of attention, “You’re going to be the life of the party, Valin. All the girls will swoon, I’m sure.”

“Finding a mate is not my focus for this evening’s activities.”

Pasha pulled Scott and Mark towards the doors to the club, the line moving a meter or two in the right direction, “I’m guessing girls in this club aren’t looking for a forever mate either. A night of fun is on the books. You may be able to win them over with your sparkling personality.”

Valin stepped up behind them, diligently matching his comrades’ gait, “I assure you, I won’t… sparkle.”

Mark let out the largest laugh of the night, “Hearing a Vulcan say ‘sparkle’ is the most awkward thing I’ve ever heard! I expected something along the lines of prismatic refraction.”

Again, unperturbed, Valin continued to survey his surroundings. “We all make mistakes, Mr. Ellingson. Perhaps, like you did choosing that chain around your neck that resembles the collar of a Klingon Targ. That is, unless you had intended on appearing like a quadrupedal beast of such low regard that pity would be your primary presentation to potential female companionship.”

A blistering silence followed. Pasha laughed into Scott’s shoulder, Scott brought his hand to his mouth to cover his enormous grin, and Mark’s jaw dropped so low the sidewalk underneath them figuratively shattered. “Excuse me?” Mark finally muttered, dumbfounded.

“Q’pla… Mark.” Scott and Pasha erupted with laughter, not able to contain themselves as the Vulcan dealt an actual humorous dig.

Mark had a dumbfounded look plastered across his face. He looked at Scott and Pasha, then back to Valin: “Did you… did he… no… That HAS to be some sort of Vulcan violation of decorum! Right? Anyone?”

“Ellingson, group of four?!” The bouncer at the door tapped a PADD. “Welcome to Presidio.”

*****

The club was alive and well. There was music pulsating through the speakers and the attendees were enjoying the scene. The bar was packed three-deep in line, the drinks were flowing and moving quickly across the bar top, and the energy was electric. No one expected different at the end of a school term. The graduating seniors of Starfleet Academy had recently received their orders, the juniors who were the incoming seasoned class were relishing in their new-found clout, and everyone else was just happy to be celebrating another late night of freedom.

In a night like this there was nothing to wake up to. There were no classes, no tests, and no sudden changes in curriculum; no, the only thing that students would wake up to in the morning would be bad decisions, uncomfortable conversations, and a hangover breakfast that would be far easier to ingest than the synthehol they were planning on imbibing. A rite of passage the end-of-term soirée was. No matter how many times one went through it, you couldn’t resist the urge to do it again at the end of every year.

Valin had taken up a position in the far corner of the room – ever the watchful eye – and Pasha and Scott had found a table somewhat askew of the main dancefloor. Mark had disappeared rather quickly as he always did to ‘survey the spoils’.

“You hate this, don’t you?!” Pasha said, raising her voice above the ridiculously loud music.

“No, not at all! Just… it’s never been my thing!” Scott replied.

“I’m going to get a drink, want one?!” They were each fighting over the bass, trying to read each other’s lips through the strobe lights and the crowd noise. The environment wasn’t anything conducive for conversation, a constructive one at any rate. “Whiskey on the rocks?!”

Scott nodded, not even attempting to verbalize his agreement. His eyes circled the throng of partygoers as Pasha disappeared into the masses headed towards the bar. He spied Valin in the corner, stoic as ever, sipping on his water. Typical Valin. And then he saw Mark, surrounded by three beautiful women at a table towards the stage. Damn, that was fast. They were all listening intently to whatever tale Mark was regaling them with. Scott surmised that it was probably ten percent true, the rest embellished with the intention of bedding one of them. At least one of them.

Mark was a handsome man. Chiseled jaw and a great body – from what Scott had seen – and his hair always looked perfect. His personality had some rough edges, but when he put it ‘on’, Mark was a force to be reckoned with. The admiration Scott had for that exuberance couldn’t be put into words. It came easy for Mark, but was like solving a Kobayashi Maru in his own personal experience. The guy was just… suave. Too suave. Borderline smarmy. But attractive, nonetheless.

Staring can be a faux pas in many cultures. The music had receded into a dull and droning repetitious pattern, the lights were no longer blaring in his face, and he didn’t even realize that he wasn’t observing his surroundings. He was staring. Hard. Brutally hard. If anyone had been around him and caught him, Scott would’ve blushed. Maybe he had a ‘thing’ for Mark, but he knew what kind of guy that he was. Not Scott’s kind of guy. Not anyone’s kind of guy. But, god damn, he was alluring without question.

“Babe?! Here’s your drink!”

Scott turned as Pasha walked up to him, drink in hand. She had never called him Babe. Her eyes had something in them that Scott hadn’t witnessed before; being such, he didn’t know what was happening. The greeting she had for him put his senses into overdrive, but he steeled his impulses as he took the drink and placed it on the table.

A figure had followed his friend across the crowded dancefloor from the bar. Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t begin to describe the gentleman caller. Scott nodded at him, throwing a sideways glance at Pasha (who turned it away by gazing openly across the gyrating masses), and returned his judgmental sight on the stranger. “Hi there!” Scott couldn’t help but feel that he looked ridiculously familiar, but the ambiance of the room obscured by constant movement dampened his recollection. And, honestly, the universe was a big place.

“You’re Pasha’s boyfriend?!” The good-looking Don Juan bellowed at Scott over the music.

God, what Scott wouldn’t give to have a normal conversation without having to shout every line, every retort, every salutation – this was one of the many reasons he hated nightclubs. Wait, boyfriend? Scott gave another glance to Pasha, whose eyes widened a bit in a blatant indication that screamed non-verbally a cry of ‘help me’ as she sipped on her own drink.

“See, I’m here with my boyfriend, Scott!” Pasha took another gulp of her drink, meeting eyes with her classmate more intensely than ever with the same non-verbal request for assistance as she had before. “We just finished our junior year! Woohoo! Onward to senior status!”

The aggressor’s eyes met Scott’s, he smirked, and leaned over to Pasha. “Him? He’s your boyfriend? I don’t buy it.” In an instant Pasha pushed the man aside, straddled Scott on his bar stool, placed her drink on the table with an acrobatic ease, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pressed her lips onto his and kissed him strongly.

Scott didn’t know what the hell was happening, but he embraced her anyway. He had learned to trust Pasha when she did something outlandish like this. The kiss continued, passionately… for almost too long. When the moment had passed, Pasha slid back onto her own seat, took a delicate drink of her own libation, and looked up. “Told you!” She gave a sly wink to Scott and she continued drinking from her straw, her eyelashes fluttering flirtatiously with the unwelcome suitor.

“Scott, good to see you again.”

“Jason, always a pleasure.”

The two shook hands and the stranger disappeared into the crowd. Pasha did a double take, a triple take, and finally turned to face her fake beau. “You know him?!”

“Jason Rehn. I dated his brother, Ryan, my senior year in high school.” Scott smiled as he took the first sip of his own drink. “He’s a nice guy! Live a little! And he knows you were lying to him!”

Pasha groaned, or at least Scott thought she did, he couldn’t hear it over the roar of the crowd. “Unbelievable!” She exclaimed, or maybe she didn’t… Scott couldn’t really tell.

*****

It had been a pretty standard Friday night as far as Scott had been concerned. Rowdy people doing stupid things just because they can, enough synthehol to keep everyone happy, and the slowly depleting number of people was making the club a little more bearable. Pasha and Scott had stayed at their table: prime real estate in a venue this size, and they didn’t dare get up except one at a time for fear of losing their post.

Mark Ellingson had his own stake claimed, complete with a table with the same beautiful women that Scott had spied him with hours before. They were all still fully engrossed in whatever tale Mark was telling – whatever web he was weaving – and utterly entranced with the young now-senior cadet.

“I bet he goes with the blonde.” Pasha said, eating the olive off the top of her martini.

Scott shook his head, “Blonde isn’t his type. I’m guessing the brunette.”

“No,” Pasha leaned forward, resting her arms on the table, “She’s doing that hair toss thing a lot. She’s definitely not as into whatever he’s talking about like the other two. And Mark hates when he feels he’s not being listened to.”

“So that leave Brunette Lite, Diet Brunette, whatever, the lighter-haired one.” Scott grinned, “And I don’t see a thing wrong with her from here.”

“How long have you been crushing on him?”

“What? I’m not – it’s not that, he doesn’t, I don’t think – ”

She rested a calming hand on his arm, “Complete a sentence, Scott.”

“I may be a lot of things, Pasha, but I’m not stupid. Do I find him out-of-this-world physically attractive? Yes. But then he opens his mouth and I realize… meh.” Scott polished off his drink and sat the empty cup on the table. He didn’t remember what number that was, but he was feeling the artificial buzz for sure.

“So you just want to sleep with him.”

“What? No?! I mean…”

“Sweet mother of… when was the last time you got laid?” Pasha’s eyes met his.

“Ha! Told you, contestant number three is the winner.” Scott pointed as Mark was saying goodbye to the blonde and the brunette, putting his arm around brunette number two and escorting her towards the door. He looked over his shoulder at Pasha and Scott – one could have guessed there was a wink tossed in their direction – and he slapped Valin on the chest a bit as he escorted the lady out. Valin looked uncomfortable, but he had appeared that way most the evening, so what was new?

Interjecting, Pasha gripped Scott’s shoulder. “You’re a strange human, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told. But, let’s be honest, not strange enough for you pretend I’m your boyfriend and plant an alarmingly powerful kiss on me.” Scott spun on his chair, no longer feeling the need to be aimed towards Mark and his group after his departure, “But, wow, girl, you got some mad skills in the lip department.”

She punched him playfully in the arm, “It was like kissing my brother.”

“One, I wish that was the first time I’ve heard that from someone. Two, I don’t want to know what type of relationship you have with your brother if that’s how you kiss him.” Scott signaled to the bartender who nodded and started pouring another drink for him. “You want one?”

Pasha slid off her seat, putting on her coat. “No, I, uh, actually am heading out.”

“Want me to walk you back?”

She had a coy expression on her face as she leaned in and kissed Scott on the cheek, “You’re sweet, and I love you for that, but I’m also taking your advice and living a little.”

“What do you – ”

Jason Rehn walked up and put his arm around Pasha’s shoulder. “Ready to get out of here, beautiful? Scott, it was nice to see you again. I’ll make sure to tell Ryan you said hello.”

“Great to see you too, and please say ‘hey’ to Ryan for me.” Scott couldn’t help but flash a look at Pasha that read very heavily as Really?, but it was met with a look from Pasha that said You said he was nice. There was a resounding overtone to how expertly, and non-verbally, the two communicated. Scott rubbed his eyes and chuckled as he watched them leave.

And just like that they were gone. Alone at the table, Scott received his drink and pounded it down like it was water. He had now seen two of his friends exit the club with other people, other partners – the group had been splintered based on primal urges. Mark, while it wasn’t a surprise that he wouldn’t be leaving alone, had been a bit of an emotional hurt. Maybe Scott did wish it was him Mark was going home with. Maybe.

Pasha, his confidant, left with the brother of his ex-boyfriend… also an ‘ouch’ moment, but he had talked him up as being a good guy. There were no qualms in Scott’s head about Jason. Or about Ryan. Their break-up had been amicable and easy: two people that were right for each other at the wrong time. Water under the bridge. There Scott sat by himself alone. It was a quiet solace, a reflecting moment, but still gut-wrenchingly painful all the same.

He saw the last remaining member of their group approach. “Shall we vacate the premises?”

“Valin, just go home.”

Valin didn’t seem deterred, “With Mr. Ellingson and Ms. Pruitt leaving earlier than us, it would stand to reason that our evening is over.”

Scott looked up over his drink, containing maybe one last mouthful of watered down liquor, “Do me a favor and take your logic and… nevermind, goodnight, Valin.”

“Very well. Please be cautious on your return to the dormitory.” Valin didn’t wait for a response as he turned on his heel and exited the establishment. The crowd was thinning considerably, the night over, and the rambunctious nature of the night’s activities waning heavily. There was a smattering of patrons still left, none of which were worth their salt. They were just… ‘having fun’.

“Thanks, I guess.” He chugged the remainder of what was in his glass. He had no intention of going back to his quarters – he wasn’t ready. He looked at the bartender who smiled and nodded, placing another glass in the recycling unit behind him. Scott straightened his jacket and moved towards the door. More easily than he entered the club, he stepped into the night with nothing but his solitude to accompany him.